


Sondheim, Gilbert and Sullivan

by SchmillionPizza



Category: The Simpsons
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:26:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24055132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SchmillionPizza/pseuds/SchmillionPizza
Summary: Two brothers, a woman , her revenge, his love and his obsession.
Relationships: Cecil Terwilliger/OC, Sideshow Bob/OC
Kudos: 6





	1. Chapter 1

Part 1 - Waxing Poetic 

Chapter 1 - The Firebrand

“Good Evening, Springfield! It’s me your guide everything entertainment, Christine Turley. Tonight we take a look at Werner Herzog’s new documentary, Sad Lonely Cats and the Internet that Loves Them. We’ll also be discussing the new must-idly watch Mediocre Summer television shows, because there’s nothing else on. All this and more coming up after our break.” 

“and cut to commercial!” The studio manager said. A brief bell ringing. Christine immediately lit a cigarette. She exhaled. 

“Careful, Christine. You might bruise a lung with one of those things.” Kent Brockman said lighting up his own cigar. 

”Oh get bent, Kent.” she said. Brockman had made her career here a complete tire fire since she got here. She sensed he was threatened and couldn’t blame him but his remarks were particularly barbed these past two weeks. The make up girl was trying mask the bags under Christine’s eyes. These 12 hour days we're taking their toll on her. More hours, more takes, more b-roll. More research, more pitches on stories. It was a lot. It never got done. She was done with all of it. 

After filming she rode the bus home and came home with a sigh. She was glad to be home. Her sanctuary. The works of high culture, wine and classical light operetta was often playing throughout. The large red, elegant Victorian home that she and her mentor of music and murder; Sideshow Bob resided. She walked in and smiled hearing the ending measures of “A Maiden Fair to See” by Gilbert and Sullivan playing over the victrola in the living room. 

She sniffled, sneezing. She heard Bob’s footsteps coming down the stairs. 

”Christine, it’s 8:30 at night. Are you JUST getting home?”

“Mhm..” she sneezed. 

“..You’ve caught a cold.” He felt of her head. 

She jerked her head away from him. “I’ve caught nothing..I just need to sleep.” She brushed past him. 

It had been 5 weeks. 5 weeks since she had made herself known to his world. 

Such fire, such passion within this woman. He had never known a woman so clever, nay a person so clever. She had told him her story. It was a sad monologue of neglect, orphanhood and sheer blistering spite. It was something right out of Dickens.  
He had been looking for something to occupy his time ever since Francesca left with Gino to return to Italy.

She had come to Springfield to live with her older sister which of course erupted in a flame of jealousy and petty name calling. So she left that residence and began living at the Sleep-Easy Motel while she perused her dream of becoming a stage actress. 

They were teacher and pupil. Boarding together. She paid him monthly to be there and she was flourishing not only with her vocal talent but her egarness to learn more about the art of revenge..was icing on the cake. He recalled one of the first few conversations he had with her. Just after she had attempted to set Llewellyn Sinclair’s car on fire. He stopped her but as she regaled him with her story and her anger at the director for picking over her for the lead. 

He completely understood her murderous rage. He wanted to help her. 

So she started learning from him. 

“Have you ever tried to kill anyone before?”

“No.” 

“That lighter is far too masculine. Too boorish. You’re too elegant for that. No...you need something lighter..sharper.” 

He reached into his suit’s jacket and brandished a knife. 

A mannequin was on stage. How convenient. He handed the weapon to her. 

“Show me your form.” He said motioning to the dummy. 

She raised a brow. He rolled his eyes. “Stab! Christine.” She looked at the dummy and screamed tackling it down and stabbing it repeatedly. 

He jerked her up when she was on her 14th stab. 

“You. Are quite mad. But..there’s potential here. How would you like for me to help you improve your voice and perfect your art of murdering on the regular?” 

“I’d love nothing more..” 

But now. She was a shell. A human automaton. It pained him to see such brilliant talent squandered. 

A knock at his door shook him out of his soliloquy and he raised a brow. Who could that be? 

He opened the door and it was Cecil. He immediately knew why he was here. 

“Hello,Brother. I’m terribly sorry to barge in but Christine has alerted me that she’s not feeling well. And as a suitor of the finest repute I feel it’s my duty to comfort her.”  
The younger Terwilliger carried an obvious torch for Christine. Ever since she started living here he had stuck to this house like an old corn flake to a ceramic bowl. 

He waved a phone slightly to indicate she had texted him. Bob was a bit shocked she had given him her number. 

In reality she had merely told him she wasn’t having a good day and she wasn’t in the mood to speak with him. 

“...Hello Cecil. She’s just in from work so I don’t know if-“ 

She stood at the top of the stairs. “Cecil..” She was still frazzled and feral looking. A black turtleneck and a navy skirt made her look like a dark entity that was thirsty for something chaotic. 

“Christine!..What an...interesting aesthetic you’ve chosen, My dear. It’s bold. I love it.” He smiled. Bob put a hand to his forehead in frustration. 

“I’m here to care for you. I thought you’d fancy a light dinner. I could prepare it here. There’s a lovely Chanton Blanc in Bob’s cellar.” He smiled and leaned against the stairs. “Cecil, stop going through my cellar. I shouldn’t have to tell you that 2 times in one month.” Bob spitefully darted out. He looked up at Christine. Still worried for her. 

“..That actually does sound nice...” she said. She walked down the stairs. Black pumps clicking softly. “...but only if Bob can join us.” She said tiredly gazing at her mentor. He smiled. 

“Of course!..of...course.” He said defeatedly.


	2. Moonshine Lullaby

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t cry baby, Day will be dawning.” 
> 
> Short chapter, but we’re not even close to done setting things up!

As Cecil chopped vegetables and cleaned the salmon.

Bob talked to Christine at the dining room table. An elegant oval cherrywood with a fern in the middle of it. 

“Have you not told Kent or anyone that his remarks are upsetting you?” He said tilting his head in sympathy or pettiness. It was hard to tell. 

“I wish I could. He’s the lead anchor he can do whatever he wants. They don’t see me as anything more than a showbiz gossip.” She said sighing. 

“Well for what it’s worth I find your pieces very well written and expertly delivered but you HAVE learned from the best.” He said smirking and she chuckled. 

Cecil side-eyed them. He couldn’t have feelings for her. He was old enough to be her father. It was a student teacher relationship. Nothing more. 

He finished preparing the asparagus and began to boil it. 

“Would it be bad form to burn down his house? Cause Arnie Pye has talked about that with me.” She said as she dipped her glass of water. 

“Yes but not for the morality, Kent has connections to the mob and they’d retaliate swiftly and I rather like this house.” He rebuttled. 

Cecil came in with their plates and sat at Christine’s right while Bob was at her left. 

“This looks really good Cecil.” She said , halting him from giving her too much wine. 

Bob eyed his brother and Cecil looked down at him as he poured his brother’s wine before his own. 

“I know you possibly can’t be eating well. Working five 12 hour days? That’s madness.”

“It is and I really do appreciate you coming to check on me.” She smiled at him and Cecil was over the moon. 

She helped him clear the table and saw him off. Giving him a friendly hug. He grinned and placed a rose from the shrub that was outside in her hand. He smiled and bid her Goodnight. 

Christine stood in the foyer and sighed to herself. 

Bob turned out the lights and locked the door. 

He looked at her. “Cheer up, Christine. It’ll all work out in the end.” He said briefly putting his hand on her shoulder. She nodded and smiled. They walked up the stairs and parted ways. 

“Goodnight Bob.” She said before going into her room. 

“Goodnight, Christine.” He said before vanishing into his own. 

Bob sighed and opened his liquor cabinet in his bedroom and took out a bottle of sherry. Pouring himself a glass. Sitting in the large armchair that faced the outside. He lifted his glass to the moon as if he were in deep in thought.


	3. On The Street Where You Live pt.1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “The overpowering feeling, that any second you may suddenly appear.”

Christine’s illness only got worse as the weeks went on. She was running on fumes. 

She had spent almost all of Saturday in bed. Bob knocked softly at her door. 

“Christine. It’s me. May I come in?” He asked very softly. 

“Yes.” She said laying down. 

He came in. He hadn’t seen much of her room. It was lovely. Pennants of Bryn Mawr adorned the space above her bed. A print of Gustav Klimt ’s The Tree of Life occupied her space by her desk. Which had two bags of cough drops empty blister packets of allergy medicine and a bottle of cough syrup on it. 

He sat in a chair by her bedside. “ Christine..speaking as your mentor I’m very worried about you. You cannot go on like this forever.” 

She sighed dabbing her nose with tissue. “Don’t you think I know that? What choice do I have?” She turned her bloodshot eyes to him. He didn’t falter. His face was still stern as a schoolteacher. 

“There’s no need to snap at me, Christine..Why don’t you go to the doctor for some anti-biotics? Or a steroid injection?” 

“I can’t afford it. I don’t get health insurance because I need the money from my paycheck..I don’t get overtime..”

“Yet you are working 12 hour days. You do realize that is illegal?” 

“Most of what we do is, illegal Bob...” she spat out at him, angrily. 

He sighed..angrily. Such a spitfire at times she was. But she was ill. He could excuse it. This time. 

“Christine if I call someone to pay for your visit and your medicine will you go?” 

“Yes... I’ll go,Mr.Darcy..I have a feeling I know this benefactor..” she sniffled. “He means well Christine...Count your blessings with that one.” Bob pulled up her covers and smiled. “I’m going to go make some calls. I’ll let you know momentarily.” He put the chair back and exited her room. He groaned..he didn’t want to have to do this but he had no choice. 

He had to call Cecil. 

“Oh! Oh of course!! I wouldn’t dream of not providing her the care she needs!! Oh Bob is she truly that ill?”Cecil exclaimed. 

“Yes, Cecil. I don’t think she has a fever..but she has been sick for two weeks and she needs assistance. Would you take her as well?” Bob asked. He felt so emasculated. This was so painful! asking his conceited neurotic younger brother to help him. It was humiliating he could not give her this himself. He had failed as a mentor. 

“Why Bob I wouldn’t dream of it any other way..oh poor poor Christine..I’ll give Hibbard’s office a call and forward you the details. See you soon.” He hung up. 

Bob groaned. At least it was over. 

He had to be loving this. He just had to be gleeful about taking care of her. Giving Christine, the unstable but talented songstress, something he could not. 

He was loving this! Oh this was his chance! His chance to prove to her that he was worthy of her. Cecil hummed to himself gleefully. 

He would be so doting and so husbandly she’d see the potential and take it!..He’d make sure to have some Chicken Soup and toasted brioche ready for her when she woke up after sleeping off her cold medication. 

He’d also go to the store and get a pint of salted caramel gelato for her. Her favorite treat. 

Yes, surely she’d notice his affection!! 

He was currently in his Black BMW driving to the store to pick up what he needed for Christine’s soup. He dialed his phone to call Dr.Hibbard’s family practice. 

“Yes. I need to make an appointment for..My Fiancé. Please.” He grinned. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. 

He forwarded Christine’s appointment time to Bob. Bob helped her sit up and made she she was able to stay that way before he left. “He’ll be here in an hour. Christine I know this isn’t an ideal situation but if you’re going to get your revenge on St.Claire you must take care of yourself. A professional would know this.”

She raised a brow. “...Was that a shred of care for me?” 

“Please. I only care about my artistic legacy being preserved. How can I carve a dramatic murderous empire if you’re dead? Plus, your money is good.” He said before leaving. He sighed...this was woman was maddening. 

Cecil arrived and came into Bob’s kitchen through the back door and was putting away his groceries. Humming softly as he did so. 

He exited and went around to the front door and rung the bell, which was a chimed version of the Cape Fear theme. A piece that for some odd reason was close to Bob’s heart. 

Bob opened the door. Cecil was grinning. 

“Is she ready?” He asked, both hands behind his back. 

Christine came down the stairs. She wore a burgundy skirt with a grey sweater. Navy tights and penny loafers covered her lower half. Even sick she was a prep-school boy’s daydream. Cecil thought to himself. 

“As she’ll ever be.” She said walking toward him. Bob helped her into her coat. A Bryn Mawr crest on the breast pocket. She was perpetually cold. But even more so due to her illness. Bob whispered to her as he helped her. 

“..Mind your manners, Katherine.” He said, comparing her to the title character of The Taming of The Shrew. 

She scoffed. His brow furrowed. 

“Fine.” She whispered back at him. 

Cecil offered her his arm with a smirk. “To help you down the stairs..” he said gently. She took it. She was too sick and tired to care. 

Cecil really didn’t know any shame. He was flaunting her like a trophy. Bob wondered if Christine knew this. 

She knew this. But at the moment she needed medical attention and medication. This really wasn’t any different than being nice to professors to get them to pay for meals at college. 

“This is a nice Beamer, Cecil..An Alpina. A gentleman’s car.” She said as he opened the door with her. “You have quite the eye. I didn’t know you knew about cars.” He said as she sat in the passenger seat. “Just the nice ones..” she smiled as he closed the door. It was all he could do to not skip as he walked to the driver’s side. 

“...So. Bryn Mawr? That’s a respectable school. Beautiful campus.” He said side-eyeing her. 

“It’s the only place I was ever happy...” she said. Wistfully. Sneezing. He gave her his handkerchief. She hesitantly took it. This had to be the nicest handkerchief she’d ever touched. 

“Ah. I remember feeling that way about Princeton. When did you graduate?” 

“A year and a half ago. I was Sigma.” She said a little more brighter. 

“You’ll adjust. I promise. It’s hard coming out of the Ivies..Everything seems dull and real. Am I making sense?” He eyed her again and she smiled. 

“Yes. You..See Bryn Mawr as an Ivy-League College?” 

“Of course! It’s an affiliate. Mt.Holyoke, Barnard, Smith even Wellesley. But my favorite has always been Bryn Mawr..it’s Princeton’s affiliate.” He grinned. 

She smiled back. 

“I was someone at Bryn. I was one of the greatest dramatic actors, a debater...No one could stand more than 2 bouts with me on the  
fencing strip.” 

“Get out of here! I fenced at Princeton! Oh! What was your preferred guard?” He asked excitedly. 

“A Sabre.” 

“How did you manage that? That’s only for men.” 

“Only men and Christine Turley.” She smirked sneezing into the orange silk cloth he had given her.

They pulled into the parking lot of the doctors office and he helped her out and she took his arm. Voluntarily this time. 

He opened the door for her and helped her sit. He signed her in and paid in advance. He found out that doing this with Hibbard always sped things along. He didn’t want to be in this petri-dish of bacteria any longer than what he needed to. 

She was tired. He noticed her keeping her eyes closed. 

“You could...lean on my shoulder if you like. It’s not particularly brawny but it’s there.” He smiled and chuckled. 

She smiled. “Only because I’m sick, Cecil.” She leaned on his shoulder and closed her eyes. He gently pushed a auburn lock behind behind her ear: “of course..” 

“Turley!” The nurse announced. It broke them both out of the dreamy soup they were wading in. She stood and he stood with her. 

“By the way, they think you’re my fiancé. Just go with it.” He said tapping her hand softly. 

She blunk. Looking vacantly at him. 

“Appearances, Christine. You know as well as I how important face is in this town.” 

He was right. Helen Lovejoy loved to spread gossip, Agnes Skinner also loved to assume the most lurid of things about people too. What was stopping them from thinking this was an appointment about a morning after pill that didn’t work? Or a STD test? Especially since she was here with him. He was absolutely right. 

She gripped his hand and nodded. 

They went back to the room. Hubbard came in and looked at her throat, her ears, felt of her adenoids and in his warm laughter he told her she had a sinus infection and that her blood pressure was very high. He recommended that she get her stress under control. 

“I would assume planning a wedding is one of the most stressful things a young couple could be doing so don’t put so much on yourself.” 

Christine was fuming inside. Yes, that’s the only thing a woman could be stressed about. Not a career, or art, or the plans she had to make St.Claire truly suffer. She sighed. She gathered herself. 

“Oh yes, The venue is proving to be most difficult. Isn’t it, Cecil?” She asked reaching a hand out to him. He sprung up and took it. 

“Yes. But we’re so very blessed with our options. I’m just excited to get this one down the isle. It doesn’t matter where it happens.” He hugged her with one arm. She leaned against him. 

Oh if this could only be real. Cecil thought. 

Hibbard offered her a steroid injection ontop of the anti-biotics he had scripted her. She nodded quickly. 

Cecil kissed her cheek and took her coat telling her he’d be right outside. 

As she waited for the nurse to come with her shot she rubbed her cheek..Not sure how she felt about that. 

The nurse came and went. Christine would spend the greater part of the day rubbing her hip. Cecil helped her into the car and on the way home her eyelids fell and she went to sleep. Cecil smiled. 

He held her hand for the rest of the journey back to Bob’s house. He pulled up and gathered Christine into his arms. He pulled the spare key from underneath the fern, opened the door and carried her in. 

He assumed because the door was locked Bob was not home. Excellent. 

He carried her upstairs and sat her on her bed. He tapped her cheek. “Christine...Christine. Wake up, Darling..” 

She opened one eye. “Hmm?...” 

“Can you get into your pajamas on your own?” He asked. 

She nodded. 

“Good. I’m going to go downstairs and make you some soup for when you wake up. If you need me, call me.” She nodded. 

“My throat hurts so much..” she whimpered out. “I’m so weak and pathetic..” she whimpered out. 

“No...no you’re not, Christine. You’re tired and you’re sick. You need to rest. If you’d like Bob and I can give the studio a call and tell them you’ll be staying home for a few days.” He said petting the side of her face. She was weeping. 

“... Christine..Please let us take care of you. Let me take care of you. You’ve been doing it all alone for so long. Don’t you think you deserve that?” Cecil asked. 

She nodded , weepy. 

“Good. Now get changed and go to sleep. Bob and I will take care of everything.” He hugged her. He wanted to kiss her and lay down with her and make sure she was happy and content but..so many things got in the way of that. 

She hugged him back and he left to give her privacy. 

He walked downstairs and began prepping her soup. Humming to himself. 

“Just bide your time..Old Boy...” he said chopping up some fresh parsley.


	4. On The Street Where You Live Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Does enchantment pour out of every door? No it’s just on the street where you live!”

Bob was picking up his car after his latest run-in with The Simpsons. It took weeks to get all the turkey feathers out of his precious Mercedes Benz that he had miraculously held onto despite all his trials and struggles with the law. 

He tipped the mechanic and headed home. He had chuckled thinking about his first few lessons with Christine. How delightful they were. 

She was sitting on a crate of stage bulbs as he played a few scales for her. 

“I despise how the other ladies warm up. They do an odd screaming. I never know who’s rehearsing being murdered or who’s actually murdering musical theatre.” She said crossing her arms. 

“Quick wit alone won’t impress me, Christine. And your quick wit won’t get your revenge. Now..what is the song you auditioned with that he looked you over for?” 

She took a long exhale. “I don’t need a roof from Big Fish. I thought it would show my natural underdog spirit for the role of Blanche.” She said dreamily. Clearly she thought a lot of herself. 

“Well, We’re going to work on that and you will sing that right before you exact your sweet dark revenge!” Bob grinned. “Bring the music tomorrow and we’ll begin. Now. “ he brought out another dummy. 

“Tonight you’re going to learn how to throw someone that’s trying to jump you from behind.” He said dragging a mat out as well. 

“Has that ever happened to you?” She asked. Slipping off her pumps. 

“ ....I was in prison, Christine. I ate being jumped for breakfast.”

He thought about Christine intensely for the rest of the drive home. Was she okay? Was she still sick? Of course she was still sick. He hoped she had been able to put up with Cecil’s antics. Lord knows what he’s tried to pull. 

He smiled knowing she’d be happy to see him come in and no doubt save her from his younger brother’s advances. 

He opened the door. He heard Christine’s light lilting and impossibly musical voice.   
“...No I actually got a scholarship. I sang and wrote an essay on why Broadway needs to stop turning every Disney movie into a show.   
It’s just too easy and I’m not buying it.”

He also heard Cecil’s snooty tenor voice coming from her room as well. He laughed at that. 

“Such a wit you are Christine. Think you could handle another spoonful?” Bob’s brow arched as he opened the door. She was up and smiling. Still sickly looking but smiling at least. Cecil was feeding her soup. 

“Bob!” Christine smiles brightly. A strange relief came over him. She was still glad to see him. 

“Hello, Brother.” He said as Christine tore off another bite of brioche. 

“Well, I trust you two had a successful visit to Dr. Hibbard?”

“We did. Turns out Cecil and I have a few things in common. We’re both the younger sibling, we both love fencing and we both miss Jay Leno’s Tonight Show.” 

“He was like a big chinned Johnny Carson..” Cecil mused. 

Bob hummed and eyed him. 

“Well, I’m sure if Christine can sit up on her own she can feed herself, Cecil. Could I have a word with you?” Cecil chuckled before handing the bowl to Christine. She continued eating as if nothing had happened. 

Bob grabbed Cecil’s shirt collar and yanked him close. 

“What are you doing?” He asked eerily calm. 

“Doing? I’m merely doing what you asked of me Bob. I’m caring for her..” he said trying to catch a glimpse of her through the crack of her door. 

“You’re flirting, Cecil. Flirting with an emotionally unstable pyromaniac that’s ill and needy.”

“Oh, pish-tosh. You’re just doing this because you can’t stand me being happy.” Cecil crosses his arms. 

“Oh for God’s sake. No. Contrary to your insane delusion of a Cecil-Centric universe this isn’t about you. It’s about her. You are literally playing with fire here. “He warned. He had seen Christine at her most unhinged and irrational. She wasn’t the kind of person that needed to be with someone. At least not right now.

“Well funny you should mention that because when she gets better she’s agreed to fence me. And if I win our bout she’s going on a date with me.” Cecil said smugly. “ Oh I have the most elegant ensemble in mind for her for the occasion..”He said musing. 

Bob lightly threw him against the wall. Not to wound him but to make a point. 

Christine’s head cocked a bit but she went back to sipping her tea shrugging it off. 

“She will tear you apart, Cecil. Mark my words When she does..I won’t give you the satisfaction of saying I told you so.” Bob let go of his younger brother’s collar and retreated to his study to pour himself a glass of Sherry. Holding it up to the moon once more before drinking it. 

Cecil retreated back to Christine’s room. 

“What happened?” She asked. 

“Oh..he’s just worried about you and can’t express it. He’s not the best at...feelings. When our mother would be judgmental towards us as boys he would haul off to the attic for hours sometimes days. He’s a solitary creature.” 

He sat beside and and lifted her hand to kiss it. “As much as it wounds me, Dear Christine I must be going.” 

“Be safe driving home.” She said, sneezing. 

“You focus on getting better. And I’ll focus on my parrying technique” He chuckled. 

“It’s your thrust I’m worried about.” She smirked and placed her teacup on her bedside table. 

Cecil’s cheeks went red and he stammered out a goodbye and ran down the stairs and into his car. He let out a loud exhale before putting his forehead on the wheel. 

“My god. She wants to have sex with me.” He concluded from Christine’s clever wordplay that she had intentions of a carnal nature. 

He was as giddy as a law student at an ambulance convention on his way home. 

Christine took her dishes downstairs, did them and came back up. She knocked softly on the door to Bob’s study. 

“Bob. It’s me. Can I come in?” She heard a mad scrambling , shuffling then his deep , uncaring baritone. 

“Come in, Christine.” He said. 

She opened the door and stood there in her robe. He was facing away from her an empty Sherry and wine glass were next to him on a table. 

“Bob...are you upset because Cecil and I are discussing going out?” She asked. 

“No. Why on earth would that bother me?” He said she walked closed to him and pulled up the piano bench to sit on so she was eye level with him. He was slouched in the huge magenta arm chair he often took solace in. 

“You threw him against a wall.” She said calmly. 

“To scare him. Christine you and I both know we are not people who do well with other people. Our mural disdain for humanity is what fuels our partnership.” He said looking worried. 

...was he jealous? 

“...and Cecil doesn’t have that disdain?” 

“No! He wants humanity’s approval. He flaunts everything. His Princeton MBA, his car, the fact that he lives in a neighborhood Montgomery Burns envies. It’s sickening. I don’t want you to become ...arm candy for him. Do you understand, My dear?” He asked, he was holding both her hands. 

“Bob. Cecil can never...ever take your place. Even if we end up together. You’ve done so much for me. He can’t make me smile the way you make me smile...and honestly he can’t sing the bass line to save his life. He’s such a tenor..” 

Bob smiled and hugged her. 

“If Cecil can’t understand the kind of...relationship you and I have. It’ll be over. I won’t sacrifice what we’re doing for him. I promise.” She said smiling. 

“I’m holding you to that, Young lady.” He chuckled and tapped her nose with his index finger. 

“Of course, Maestro..” 

For just a little while his soul was at peace.


	5. And Oh The Towering Feeling ( Epilogue to On The Street Where You Live )

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This has been a lovely arc.

As time went on Christine got better. Cecil watched several chick-flicks with Christine in the living room. Bob continued negotiation with the studio acting as Christine’s manager to improve her work conditions. Christine herself often found her thoughts on Cecil. How cultured he was. How he always knew what kind of wine to have. How he always made sure she was comfortable in her bed before leaving for the night. He was like a knight. Sir Galahad to her Gwenevere. 

It was natural for her to lean into him when they watched a movie. It didn’t feel odd when he put his hand to her cheek. And put his forehead to hers. Her heart raced when he would tell her “You’re so smart.” Or “Your voice is a song, My dear.” 

Christine was healthy again. She came down the stairs and found Cecil cooking and Bob was drinking a mug of coffee. Bob smiled when he saw her. 

She hugged him lightly and then walked over to Cecil and he lifted her and spun her around. He chuckled. “Someone looks and feels better!..That’s so wonderful.” She chuckled. 

Bob looked worried when he lifted her. He was showboating. 

Christine smiled. “We have terms we must agree on, Cecil.” 

She grinned and he grinned back putting the pan of grilled vegetables to the side. 

“Fine. I’ll be a gentleman and hear your terms, Miss Turley.” 

“We use practice rapiers. No masks but vests. 3 phases. Last bout wins.” She smiled. 

He tapped his chin. 

“Hmm...Reasonable. But I get to choose the venue.” He smirked. She chuckled. 

“Fine. I can beat you anywhere.” She smiled. 

Bob smiled seeing her so bold. So confident. She was a force to be reckoned with. 

“Bob. I left that sheet music on your desk. How long should we wait until we start up again?” Christine asked. The older Terwilliger sibling felt of her neck to see if her tonsils were still swollen. 

“Hm. Let’s give it two days to be safe.” He said smiling as she left to run some errands. Looking very smartly dressed in the Yale blue sundress she had gotten recently. 

Cecil served his brother and himself a very sensible breakfast. 

“So what happens if she wins?” Bob asked sipping a glass of water. 

“I have to drink grocery store wine for a week.” Cecil said looking very uncomfortable with that idea. 

Bob cackled. “Ohh...She hit you we’re it hurts.” 

“But she won’t win. I fenced in prep-school AND at Princeton. She only learned at Bryn Mawr..” 

“Don’t underestimate her. I’m pretty sure she started several of the mysterious fires we’ve been hearing about.” He said sipping his water. 

“You’ll see Bob. I’ll best her like a gentleman, we’ll go out she’ll see that I’m clearly the best choice for companionship and thus begins our life together....I hope Mother approves of her. She’ll be giving her grandchildren one day.” 

“ An elite college educated, actress with a skewed moral compass and a penchant for spitting venom? She’ll love her.” He chuckled. “Does Christine know she’s going to be mothering your children? Cause that seems like something she should consent to.” 

“Not yet but she’ll learn to love the idea of being my wife and having three little blessings to look after..” He looked as if he were day dreaming, flourishing his words with a wave of his fingers. 

“Three? Cecil you do know you have to look after them too. Even if you have a job.” 

“Well of course. But she’ll have to quit her job after we start having children. At least for a little while.” 

“Well Christine has a life of indentured domesticity to look forward to. Are you tell her this on your first date?” He asked looking skeptical. 

“The third one actually..” Cecil smirked.


	6. Think of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Think of all the things we’ve shared and seen. Don’t think about the way things might have been.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m back. I:

The first subtle hints of fall were in the air. The air was cooler. A wonderful respite from the harsh, angry heat of summer. 

Wine was no longer served chilled. Soups were starting to replace cold salads and fresh fruit. College pullovers were dug out of closets to keep the occupants of this large Victorian house warm instead of running up a heating bill so early in the year. 

Bob gingerly knocked on Christine’s doorway. The young woman perked up her head. She was reading on her bed. Still a bookworm at heart. College does that to you. 

“Christine. I was looking through my things..and I found something that might amuse you.” He smiled and brought over a deep navy blue sweatshirt. 

“What is it?” She chuckled as he handed it to her. He looked and saw she was reading Atlas Shrugged. A book he recommended to her. He was subtly trying to glean out the very bold liberal-leaning streak she had in her. She was young enough to still be lead to the -right- path. 

Christine unbundled the fabric and saw that it was a Yale sweatshirt. She chuckled. 

“Vintage. It feels worn in. I can smell the definite smug sense of superiority in this. I know you went to Yale, so why show it to me?” She said looking down at the color blocked fabric that was no doubt from the 70s. 

That venom. That vinegar. He loved and hated that about her. He pushed the garment toward her. 

“I want you to have it.” He said, letting out a small chuckle. 

“Me? Why?” She raised a brow and looked at him. 

“Because you’re..” he wanted to say a lot. He didn’t know what to say too. An impasse. He wanted to say..beautiful, intelligent, gifted in the art of murder. How could he say such a thing? Would it be inappropriate? He was her teacher. Her mentor. He was so proud of her dedication. Her willingness to learn. 

What was he doing? Why was he letting these meddlesome feelings of warmth cloud his brilliant mind? What was it about her? 

Was it because deep down he saw himself in her? Perhaps it was the fact that she was so young that she really didn’t know that she could do better. But could she? 

He was so lonely. He missed his ex-wife and his son. He knew he couldn’t ever have what he had with Francesca. Never again would he feel that level of affection with anyone. But Christine...she understood him on a level he hadn’t really felt since his mother. 

“Because you’re a person worth knowing.” She took the garment and smiled. 

“I’m glad I’m here. I feel..special when I’m here.” She smiled. Looking at him. 

“Because you are. Here we can revel in our persuit of the arts and knowledge and not have to worry about the judgment of the...mediocre citizens that this town seems to breed on a daily basis.” 

A blimp with Duff hard seltzer blinking on its screen floated in the distance, visible from Christine’s window. 

“...Perhaps we could visit New Haven one day? I’ve never been that far north.” She said. 

“Oh! What a lovely idea, Christine. I’d like that very much. We’ll see if there’s any shows playing too.” He smiled. She smiled back. 

“I’ll wear this and we’ll befuddle everyone.” She chuckled and so did he. 

“The only Ivy school I’ve ever been to was Princeton.” She said. 

The mood soured. That made him think of Cecil. 

He would throw a tantrum at this idea. 

“Bob people would talk. They would think you’re having an affair.” Bob thought to himself hearing Cecil’s snooty voice. 

“....What would you like for dinner? It’s a bit chilly today. Perhaps a soup?” 

“I think I saw a slab of pancetta in the fridge. Maybe some potato soup?” She asked tinting her head. Her dark brown hair swaying a little as she did. 

“That’s actually not a bad idea. I could pack you some for your lunch.” He smirked. 

“Thanks MOM.” She chuckled. Picking up her book to return to it. 

“I’ll call you when it’s ready.” He said walking out of her room. He sighed gently before going down the stairs. 

...

As Bob hummed along to the gentle nocturne sounds of Debussy he had come to a realization as he was performing the menial task of chopping chives. 

He hadn’t thought about Bart Simpson in ages. Christine, Cecil, his mother and father occupied his mind. Helping Christine get her revenge was...helping him forget his own. 

How special she was to him. Sure she..was bitter...negative and sarcastic at times. Stubborn. She spent far too much on clothing and didn’t really have a grasp of how to be an adult yet but...still. There was something special about her. His Christine. 

...

Cecil had mulled over the venue...It must be romantic...intimate. 

He grinned and an idea struck him. A wonderfully entertaining idea. Oh what poetic justice. 

He congratulated himself by toasting his romantic intentions to himself by sipping the Merlot he had in his glass. 

Christine was just getting home. Ever since Bob advocated for her she was being treated much better at the studio. At least for now. 

She walked up to her room and saw she had mail on her desk. Bob was always very courteous and would leave any parcel for her on her desk. 

Regular bills, her alumni newsletter and a very elaborate envelope sealed with a wax seal that had a “C.T.” Pressed into it. 

“Cecil..” she said breaking the seal and looking over the letter. 

“My lovely Christine, The time has come for our match. I want the venue to be a surprise so I’m picking you up and taking you there. I want to tell you of all the lovely things in store for you if I am the victor. But I will save such treasures for after. Be ready tonight at 8:30pm. Till then my sweet.   
Forever yours, Cecil” 

She chuckled. How could she refuse such a request? 

Bob stood in her doorway he was twisting the peg key of his violin to tune it. Plucking the ever stubborn D-String. “So, when’s he coming to get you?” He asked with a raised brow. 

“ How did you know it was from him?” She asked astonished he knew this. 

“I recognize his insignia and he bathed that letter in Dolce Blue. That’s been his cologne for the past 20 years.” 

She walked over to him. Curious now. 

“So what’s yours?” 

“Mine? It’s been the same since I was 15. Eau Savage by Dior.” 

Christine chuckled folding the letter and putting it away in her desk. 

“Men are so funny to me. So particular about everything..” she said looking through her trunk now. She was looking for her fencing vest. 

“And women are not? Women are the most complex creatures on the planet.” 

He drolled out. 

“ Only because men are so upfront with everything. We have to do everything in secret because we’re so busy taking care of you.” She said smiling always enjoying a healthy debate. 

“Ah-Ah. You’re liberated now! You can’t use that excuse anymore.” Bob smirked. He missed this Christine. 

“And what IS liberation? A mere gesture? A handshake? Having to stand on the subway instead of sitting?” 

“Well the 19th amendment was a pretty good gesture.” 

“Yet you make 75% more money than we do.” 

“Oh please! You get maternity leave. Do you have any idea how difficult it is for a father to get time off when a child is born?” 

They chuckled. 

“I miss this. Your stonewall stance of a political view never ceases to entertain me..”

“And your muddled grey libertarian-feminism confuses me to no end.” Bob chuckled out. 

She found the grey and yellow vest and slipped it on. A team captain patch below the Bryn Mawr crest. 

“Christine..Cecil is not good at many things but he’s adequate at two things. One of them is cooking and the other is fencing. Are you sure you understand that he’ll be insufferable if you have to go on a date with him?” 

“You make it sound like I’m going to be tortured.” 

He rolled his eyes a bit. She fetched her own violin and smiled at him. 

He smiled back walking downstairs with her. Both of them carrying the instruments in the crook of their arms, bows in the opposite hand. 

“How about Copeland? I tire of the classics. They’re so over-used.” He said.

“I’ll read the piano’s part on the Sonata and transpose. You’re a stronger lead than me.” She responded. 

They played beautiful their harmony was so interlocked. They had grown to know each-other so well they knew just exactly what the other was thinking in terms of the music. 

They played a few more songs before a knock at the door came. 

It was time for her match. 

Christine opened the door. “Well. Look Bob it’s the man who’s going to lose a fencing match tonight.” 

“Such a wit, Dear Christine. Here. Put this on.” He gave her a blindfold. 

“...Is the password Fidelio?” Christine asked raising a brow. She looked at Bob as if asking for permission. 

He shrugged. “He wouldn’t kill you, My dear. He doesn’t have the guts.” He smirked and crossed his arms. 

“Well you would be the one to know about failed murder attempts wouldn’t you?” He said as Christine tied her blindfold. 

“You will be a gentleman.” Bob said before Cecil lead her to his car. 

“Always, Brother.” Cecil said before closing the door.


	7. When He Sees Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You cannot be too careful  
> When it comes to sharing your life  
> I could end up a miserable wife  
> He could be criminal, some sort of psychopath  
> who escaped from an institution,  
> somewhere where they don't have girls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two updates on one day. Yeah yeah, big whoop wanna fight about it?

Christine had had many suitors in her life. Partially due to her early development, quick wit, and aloof personality. Men always want what they think they can’t have. 

“Ricky likes you, Chrissy.” One of her grade school girlfriends would tell her. 

“My name is Christine and I don’t like Ricky. He said I sang like a Disney Princess.” 

“So? That’s not a bad thing.” 

“I’m going to be the greatest star on Broadway one day I’m destined for Sondheim, Rogers and Hammerstein. Not Ashman and Menken.” 

“...Who?” 

She was always far more intelligent than her peers but she was attractive which made her gift accepted in the superficial aristocracy that is public school socialization. 

When she got to college she often dated her professors. Not for the grade. That was an easy task for her. She wanted to feel special, to feel elite and superior. 

Her rage at St.Claire was justified. How dare he not recognize her unique and quality talent. He and Brockman would burn. And she would watch with utter delight. 

She sighed as she thought to herself. Sitting blindfolded in Cecil’s car. 

Why were her thoughts on his older brother then? 

Logic.Christine. 

It was no wonder she was having such conflicting feelings for her mentor. The absent father she never knew always seemed to trickle into her thoughts and feelings for a man. 

The warm, happy feeling she felt for Bob. What was it? It wasn’t the usual lust she felt for men. It was a familiarity. Being so kindred with someone was new for her. Her favorite part of the day was coming home and seeing him. Her psychotic palm tree of a teacher. 

She smiled. Hearing his voice in her mind. The voice she could harmonize with so well. 

“Are you smiling because you think you’re going to win, My dear?” Cecil said tearing her from her inner soliloquy. 

“...I’m smiling because I know I’m better than you, Terwilliger.” She replied. Lying. 

Bob was so much older than her. He..could he feel the same feelings she had? He probably saw her as a child. A ward. Nothing remotely sexual or romantic. 

Cecil however..

His red hot intentions were clear. Maybe she could keep Bob in her life if she ended up with the brother that had feelings for her. 

Maybe she could keep that warmth in her life somehow.

She felt the car stop. 

She heard Cecil’s door shut and her’s open. 

She felt his warm hand take hers. 

“I’ve already measured the court and the rapier’s are ready for us.” He said gently squeezing her hand. 

The scent of the building entered her body. Whiskey, cigarettes, Krusty Burger remnants and stale doughnuts?...

“We’re in the TV studio.” She said before he took the silk off of her eyes. 

“How did you know?” Cecil said. Astonished. 

“The smell of this hellhole is unmistakable.” She said. She blinked. at the lot they were in. 

“Krusty’s Set.” She said looking around. 

“Yes. Where my greatest regret took place. But tonight I will redeem myself.” He said buckling on his own vest. His Princeton vest was purple. The crest was on the left side and Team Captain was above it. 

“Two Captains, two rapiers..one outcome.” She said smirking. 

“One destiny.” Cecil said swishing his plastic practice rapier around before turning on the studio lights. 

“Such a romantic...You know we could be arrested for trespassing here.” Christine said doing the same. 

They both took starting positions. 

“Since when has following the law mattered to us?” He said getting low to the ground. 

“Good point.” She replied maintaining a stable position instead. She preferred to have control. 

“Allez!” Cecil said, lunging toward her. 

“En-garde!” Christine said backing only slowly to catch him and block his sword with hers. 

She leapt back gracefully and pushed him off of her. Her movements precise and controlled. 

Cecil gave her no opening. They discarded their court and began moving up the stairs. 

They had two matches. Christine won the first and he won the second. Whoever won this bout would win it all. 

“You look tired, Terwilliger! Perhaps you should sit down!” She leaped back and he tripped at the surprise. 

“I’ve only begun to fight!” Cecil said. 

Christine was left with a choice. 

To surrender her precious pride, lose to him or defeat him and ruin her chance to stay in Bob’s life. 

His moves were incredibly predictable. They were good. To a novice they would be very intimidating. But she was no novice. 

She saw that his foot was arched back. She lifted up her rapier and tilted it just slightly. Ensuring his victory. He hit her crest and she conceded. 

“...I won?” Cecil asked himself. He giggled and clapped at his unexpected victory. “I won!..Hooray for Cecil! I won!!” He giggled and then turned to her. Christine was smiling. She handed him her sword. 

“You did.” She said. Lying. 

“My darling...” he took her sword and smiled. Taking her hand to kiss it. 

“..Surely you hold no contempt toward me?” asked. 

“Of course not. You won fair and square. Hopefully our next outing won’t require a blindfold.” She said, chuckling. 

He smiled and kept his hold on her hand. He yanked her to him and kissed her. 

She was shocked but impressed with his forward ness. 

She kissed back. 

Their silhouettes in contrast to the bright reds and greens of Krusty’s set. 

“..Hopefully our next outing won’t end up in a children’s television studio..” Cecil replied. He scooped Christine into his arms and carried her back to his BMW. 

She rolled her eyes. 

He turned off the stage lights and locked the door. 

Whistling as he walked back to Christine. 

Driving her home. 

Christine looked at the Capital City skyline visible from where they were. She leaned her head on the window of the car. 

She wondered about her future. Her destiny. Where was she meant to be?...Who was she meant to be? 

Whichever brother she ended up with would certainly be a key factor. 

She hated that her useless heart was clouding her wit. These warm feelings. Would they ever go away? 

If she could remain in her maestro’s life. No. They wouldn’t. 

How bothersome. 

End of part 1


	8. Let My Home Be My Gallows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ahithophel, Judas, your own Pier della Vigna. Avarice, hanging, self-destruction, with avarice counting as self-destruction as much as hanging. And what does the anonymous Florentine dead say in his torment at the end of the canto? Io fei gibetto a me de le mie case. - - And I - I made my own house be my gallows."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2: The Turning of The Shrew.
> 
> Christine is very problematic.  
> She’s also dramatic and loves attention. 
> 
> She’s also very unstable and egocentric. 
> 
> Two of these living in the same house probably isn’t a bad idea. Right?

She sighed. 

She looked for components for the charcuterie board Bob was putting together for the Dean of admissions for Springfield University. He was hoping to impress him so that he would get the Music Theory teaching job he wanted. 

“...Let’s see. Merlot grapes..and dried apricots. How about Asian pears too. A nice hint of fall but an unexpected twist of the exotic.” She nodded. 

She picked up the smoked Brie, Havarti, Munster and Roquefort. Several other things also found their way into her basket. 

“...Oh. Excuse me. “ she and an older grey haired woman were reaching for the last baking chocolate bar. 

“But I need this chocolate to make brownies for my husband’s toy train enthusiast club.” She said as if this incredibly specific thing was the most important thing in the world. 

It was Helen Lovejoy. The minister’s wife. She knew how to handle her breed of busy-body. 

“Helen. I need this chocolate for a charcuterie board. It’s not complete without the last hint of sweetness. A kiss goodnight.” Christine explained with a flourish. Attempting to educate this poor ignorant townie. 

“Christine Turley. You’re that new...actress that tried to burn Kent Brockman’ car, home and suit collection. I think it would be best if I took the chocolate. People are staring and I simply must insist on taking it.” She said in the sweetest voice. 

“You know Helen. I have..a recommended book I think you would love. It’s called The Gospel of Mark it’s located near the back of the text that is no doubt in your husband’s study, bedroom and living room. Though I wouldn’t touch that one. That’s the big SHINY one that we must use to subjugate the rabble that worship at The Reverend’s feet.” 

Ned Flanders whispered to a fellow on-looker. “It’s the sliver lettering..” 

“There is a story in the 12th chapter verse 41-44. It’s about a widow that gives her very last bit to the church. Are you familiar?” Christine asked. Helen was flabbergasted this...artist knew the Bible! 

“Of course I do! I always give everything to the church. I’m involved in several charities and missions in this town.” 

Christine didn’t even flinch. Steady as a rock about to be thrown into a glass house. 

“Oh then you won’t mind if I regale it then.. this poor widow put in more than all the other contributors to the treasury. For they have all contributed from their surplus wealth, but she, from her poverty, has contributed all she had, her whole livelihood.” She said so quickly. With such bite. 

Helen was for once at a loss for words. Going up against Christine though, one really didn’t have a chance to get a word in edgewise. 

“She was recognized not because she bragged about her charity or her status..but because she gave without expecting a bar of baking chocolate.” Christine had made her way to the bar and nabbed it. 

“I...I...fine. Take it. You’ve already caused a scene!” Helen said huffing.

“ I know. I’m an actor. It’s what we do.” She paid for her things and glanced back at Helen. 

“And tell The Parson to stop messaging me on Facebook. He’s not my type.” She said turning her nose up and catching a bus home. 

She smiled on her way.

But she thought about the tone of Helen’s voice...she thought Lovejoy’s silly little meeting was the most important thing in the world.

Was it because that’s what marriage is? 

Surely not. 

She pulled the cord when she saw the bright red Victorian house with ferns lining the walkway come to view. 

Home. 

She walked by the sign that was lit up telling the citizens of Springfield that Bob was “on parole.” 

She thought that he would be so proud of her for giving Helen a lesson in humility. 

Christine often thought in irrational patterns such as this. It was part of her instability. 

She opened the door and announced she was home. 

Bob was in his room comparing a red tie to a black one. 

“...Ugh. I can’t decide. Which one?” He turned to her. 

“...Red. It’s more academic.” She smiled and walked back down to the kitchen. 

“Of course, of course.” He said putting the silk around his neck and tying it flawlessly. 

She began putting the board together. 

He walked down shortly after. Smiling seeing her working. Doing this for him. 

“I was thinking..could you wear that black dress you wore when you terrorized Kent Brockman?” He smiled slipping on his suit’s jacket.

“Which time?” She chuckled nibbling on a fig. 

“ The time you sang Joanna before you attempted to burn his house down. You had him tied up in the studio and were singing to him. It was a bonus because the boy and his sister were there..investigating something or other. Ah..it would have been a work of art..” Bob put his hands on her shoulders. Lost in the arsonic nostalgia. 

“Ugh if only Lisa hadn’t found the fuse and charges to the M-90’s I had in his basement...but yes I will wear that dress.” She chuckled. “...No one could see you coaching me from the rafters..but I did.” She looked at him as if she were expecting a kiss but flashed painfully to reality. There would be no kiss. Just a tender pat to her shoulder. 

The way she looked at him. 

Oh what he would give for just one peck. A quick gesture of affection. Would he stop there? Would he hold her tiny form against his? Cancel this dinner and finally confess all his adoration of her? 

Would all of that come from just one peck? 

The risk was far too great. He must harden his heart. He can’t feel this way. No...not for Christine. For himself. For Cecil. He couldn’t bare the thought of possibly losing her. It would never work anyway. He couldn’t keep a young woman. 

Could anyone keep her? Truly? 

“Oh Christine...tiny pumpkins? Really?” He jeered as she put the last touches on the board. 

“He’s a townie. He’ll find it charming..” she said chuckling. 

She walked up the stairs to change. Bob attempted to sneak a piece of cheese. But was met with Christine’s wrath. 

“Don’t touch that board, Maestro!” She yelled from the top of the stairs. 

“Damnit.” He said. Pursing his lips. 

...

6:30pm. 30 minutes before The Dean arrived. 

“Maestro..” she said softly coming down the stairs. 

He walked up from the cellar with two bottles of wine. 

“Yes. My Soprano?” He asked smiling. Putting the bottles in the fridge. 

“I need your help.” She had a necklace in her hands. It was a gold Tragedy and Comedy mask pendent. A gift from her dorm at Bryn Mawr. 

“Certainly.” He said as Christine lifted the back of her hair. 

“...That perfume. What is it?” He asked trying to sound casual. 

“Daisy. From Marc Jacobs.” She replied trying to sound aloof. 

“It’s lovely.” He said clasping the necklace in place. 

She turned around and he smiled. 

Her bob-length brown hair was curled, red lips smiled so impishly at him. Her dress was a knee length off the shoulder black dress. She looked like royalty. So elegant. 

“You look beautiful.” He said. 

She chuckled. 

“You clean up well yourself..” she said smiling back. 

She looked as if she wanted to say something else but the doorbell wrang. 

She steadied herself and smiled when he opened the door. 

“Ah! Dean Miller! It’s so good of you to come! Please. Be my guest.” Bob shut the door and Christine walked over to their guest. 

“Bob! So good to see you in person!” Dean Miller was a painfully average looking man. Glasses, balding. Typical co-ed bait. 

“ May I take your coat, Dean?” She asked. 

“Oh of course! He said sliding it off his shoulders and handing it to her. 

“Bob you didn’t tell me you had such a lovely young wife!” Dean Miller said. 

“Oh no. Bob and I aren’t married.” Christine said this so cheerfully but painfully. Helen Lovejoy’s tone came back to her. 

A little dinner for a Dean of a community college no one knew about..but it was important to Bob. Just as that toy train meeting was important to The Reverend. 

“Dean this is my associate Christine Turley. She graduated Sigma at Bryn Mawr about a year ago. She helps me with my various productions. An invaluable member of Team Terwilliger.” 

“Oh! How impressive. What did you study?” Miller asked. 

“Theatre with a minor in Broadcast Journalism .” She said as Bob popped the cork on the wine and poured three glasses. 

“Christine is also the entertainment anchor at Channel 6.” Bob said as he handed out the glasses. 

Christine smiled. “My work pales in comparison to Bob’s. He’s played Prince Hamlet 32 times.” She chuckled as he handed her her glass. 

They moved into the living room. 

They all partook of the charcuterie board and Clever remarks, a few songs and a few laughs later the Dean was forgetting he was in an attempted murderer’s home. But this fact did turn back up. The Dean began asking questions.

“Bob..How would you explain your...less than perfect past to the faculty at the university..” 

“Hm. That is an excellent question, Dean. I can understand there are concerns. But...Any man can reform. Can be forgiven. Can he not? After all I never killed anyone. I was merely blinded by my own hubris in those days. I’ve come very far in my therapy and you’ll find I have a stellar record with my parole officer.” 

Christine basked in his brilliance. He was lying. Lying through his teeth but he did it so flawlessly. Without hesitation. 

The job sounded like it was his. Christine was relieved. This was so important to Bob. 

Ick. That feeling again. 

“But I need this chocolate to make brownies for my husband’s toy train enthusiast club.” 

Helen’s voice rattled in her mind. 

Is that what became of a woman? When she felt love? 

Christine held her head.

“Christine..? Are you alright?” Bob asked. 

“Oh! Yes I’m fine. I just need to go get an aspirin. I’ll be right back.” She said walking out of the room. Worried that a few cracks could be seen in her facade. The foundation caked, chiffon coated illusion that she often took such solace in. 

She turned to shut the door to the guest bathroom. 

She slid down against the door. She felt cold all of a sudden. She held herself. 

“...No. I can’t be feeling this way..” she whispered to herself. 

She had to push this away. Far away. The risk was too much. 

She heard his voice through the walls. That soothing perfect baritone..

She put her face to the rose printed wallpaper. Hoping to catch the vibrations from his voice. 

That voice that meant everything. 

She closed her eyes and remembered how nice it felt when the Dean asked if she was his wife. 

That she could be his wife. It felt like she was his wife. 

What a nice feeling it was. 

She would save it for later. She would think about it later. 

She returned to the two men. The Dean was putting his coat on. 

“Oh! Christine would you mind if I took these little pumpkins home? My wife loves things like this.” He smiled. 

“Oh of course. I hope she enjoys them.” She said smirking up at Bob. 

He rolled his eyes but smiled back. 

“Bob, I’ll bring it up to the department chairs but I feel very good about this. I’ll give you a call on Monday.” The Dean nodded to Christine and she smiled at him. 

“Safe travels going home, Dean!” She said. 

“Thank you for coming! Have a wonderful evening.” Bob said closing the door. 

He put his back to it and smiled at her. 

He suddenly scooped her into his arms and spun her around. 

Her face felt like it was going to melt off. She was so flustered. 

“We did it!” He laughed and placed her down. “Did you see how impressed he was? Oh and our harmony on Another Day of Sun? Exquisite, My Dear!” He said looking positively giddy.

Is this how Reverend Lovejoy looked when his Toy Train Enthusiast group left and he felt good about himself? 

“Well. You carried it. Especially on..” she paused at how close their faces were. 

“...Let me be your wings...” she finished. 

She was radiant. So charming, engaging really. She was such a good wing-woman for him. She talked about his accomplishments. Did she truly see him as this impressive? 

This...frighteningly intelligent..beautiful, talented woman thought so highly of him. One peck...just one. He was riding the high of having Ego inflated. They had been drinking..he could pin it on so many things. 

“...Anything that you desire..Anything..at all..” he gently crooned out. So close to her now. 

“ Everyday you’ll take me higher...and you’ll never let me fall...” she sang back at him. Moving closer. 

The phone rang jolting both of them out of the dream they were experiencing. 

Christine put her hand to her cheek. Calming herself. While he answered that. 

He sighed and hung up. 

“Damn robo-calls. I highly doubt there’s something wrong with my car’s extended warranty.” 

“...What do you say we close up for the night? It’s been...quite the evening.” 

She nodded. 

“Of course, Maestro.”


	9. Meet Me Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lee! Do you yield?!” “You shot him in the side YES he yields!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where can we go from here? 
> 
> ...
> 
> Just you wait ;) ( I couldn’t resist)

“Oh Mother you’ll love her! Yes. Shes’s very educated!” Cecil said. 

He was on the phone with his mother. Telling her all about his future wife and mother of her grandchildren. 

Despite not even having gone on their first date. 

“Where should I take her?” He asked. Walking around his apartment that overlooked both Springfield and Capital City. 

It was very neat, luxurious and ridiculously organized. Deep purples and grays filled the space. A contrast to the greens and blues that dominated the interior of Bob’s Victorian Manse. It was as if he was trying to prove to himself that he was better. That he was special. 

Judith had always showed favor to Bob. Her first born and far more ambitious child. But she still took pity on Cecil from time to time. 

“Yes...Oh she loves theatre. It’s what she studied. Ah!..of course. I didn’t know your Troupe was in town.”

It wasn’t her troupe. It was a substandard company that she read about in the back of The Springfield Review of Books. She thought of him. 

For some reason she couldn’t pinpoint. 

“Mother. You’ll see! I’m going to marry this woman and you’ll be proud and you might show some genuine affection for me. It’ll be an exhausting day for you but it’ll be a good day.” 

She chuckled. Wishing him well. 

She hung up. 

He sighed. 

He dialed Bob’s number with a fervor as if he had something to prove. 

...

Christine was sitting on the kitchen counter looking at different graduate programs on her tablet. 

“What about NYU? Lots of respectable directors and producers went there.” She said looking it over. 

“You know where -I- want you to go. And get off of my counter please.” Bob said chuckling as he wrote out the bills. Not looking up. But still wearing a smile on his long angular face. He was wearing his glasses which made Christine’s heart flutter. She was sitting here so she didn’t have to sit close to him. She felt she might pass out from the tension. 

“Bob. Yale isn’t the answer to everything.” She said hopping down to walk over to the island in the kitchen to lean against it. 

“I’d beg to differ. Christine, if you’re going to be in here sit down in a chair. You’re making me nervous.” He pointed to a chair at the table with his pen. 

She sighed and sat. Silence. The radio was on. the mediocre 80’s pop songs helped Bob focus on numbers. He wouldn’t be distracted by songs he didn’t care for. He worked better with noise sometimes. Rhythm of The Night by Debarge was playing under their talking. 

She looked at him. Remembering how close their faces were...she could feel his breath. How warm he was. What was it that made a man in a suit so warm? 

She went to speak but the phone interrupted her. 

She made a grumbling noise similar to her mentor. Phones were becoming her rakes. 

Bob stood to answer it and blunk. Then went back into his usual blasé attitude. He had forgotten that Cecil had won their match. He was cashing in that date with his protege. 

“I don’t need a play by play Cecil. She’s right here.” Bob rolled his eyes and brought the phone to Christine. Her hand lightly touched his and he withdrew quickly. 

What was it that made a woman so soft? 

He watched her stand , walk to the living room and moved himself to sit at his place. 

Her black jeans and white dress blouse made her look like Elizabeth Taylor. A timeless beauty. 

He sighed. ...He was so close. So close to her. This was agony. When they retired to their separate rooms last night he languished in his sheer pining anguish. He held a pillow close to him and pretended it was her. Holding her so close. Protecting her from a world that did not understand her. Neither of them. Certainly she was a lot to deal with. She had a violent streak in her a mile long. She was demanding. Materialistic...but she was still wonderful. And he would do anything to keep her near him. Would he kill for her? 

Yes. 

He would attempt murder to keep her. 

He was selfish like that. 

“Hello. This is Christine.” Her melodic speaking voice brought him back down to earth. 

“Darling! How are you?” Cecil asked on the other end. 

“I’m well. I’m looking at graduate programs.” She said. Aloof as ever. 

“That’s wonderful! Have you given Princeton a consideration?” He asked. 

“...it’s ...on my list..” she said. Lying. 

“Lovely! I’d like to speak to you about our date. That I won.” He grinned. 

She could feel him grinning. So her company was a token? Hm. That was a powerful feeling. She could use this. 

“Have you?...And where shall we be going Mr.Terwilliger?..” she said in a charming, flirty voice. 

This made Cecil sweat. Was that..respect she was showing him? 

“The T-Tempest is coming to the theatre next week and I’d be delighted to take you.” He said biting his bottom lip. 

“Oh. A tragic comedy. Certainly. I’d love to go. What time do I need to be ready?” She asked. 

“Wednesday night..8:30...please.” Cecil nervously suggested. 

“Alright. I’ll see you then.” She hung up and smiled. 

The theatre always made her smile. 

She walked back into the kitchen. 

“He’s taking me to The Tempest next week.” 

She said, sounding a little sad. 

“A tragic comedy. Sounds about right for Cecil.” He said with a smirk on his face. Hearing that sadness. She didn’t like him as much as he thought. This gave him a strange glimmer of hope. 

“What’s your favorite Shakespearian play? Besides Hamlet?..” She asked, sitting across from him. 

He chuckled. “..Richard III..but only for sentimental reasons.” He looked up at her over his glasses.

“What’s yours?” He asked taking them off. 

“...A Midsummer Night’s Dream..” she said smiling. “What’s so sentimental about Richard III?” 

“ That was the play that my mother got her big break in. That and Hamlet are the only two of the Bard’s plays I know cover to cover.” He said sealing all of his bills up. 

She nodded. A heavy silence. Was it safe?

“...Bob we...need to talk about last night.” She said so softly. 

“...Of course, Christine..What about it?..” he asked putting stamps on the envelopes now. 

“We almost kissed...I...I’m very...confused about that..” she said. Scooting closer to him. 

“Christine..” he said gently.Trying to dismiss her.

“...It’s been eating away at me..like a inawing termite..And then I keep hearing Helen Lovejoy’s stupid pandering voice in my head and..I feel a certain way but I can’t feel that way!” She said bringing her knees up to her chair and putting her face in them. Sniffling. 

“I’m not supposed to feel this way! Smart women aren’t like this..if I give into this..feeling. It won’t make me any different!!” 

He was...confused as well. What did Helen Lovejoy have to do with any of this? Who was telling her she had to be a cold unfeeling academic? 

Was that a consequence of his teaching to her? 

But she said she felt a certain way. What did she mean? 

“Christine..” he took her hand and squeezed it. 

“You’re allowed to have normal emotions. Those are valid..I understand the pressure to be better..to be intelligent is very great...but feeling affection? Oh no my dear...that’s nothing to be ashamed of. Never.” He wiped her tears with his thumb. She cried at that sensation. 

He brought her in close for a light embrace. 

“..Go and sit in the living room. I’ll lock the door. We have a lot to talk about..”


	10. Wandering Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wandering child, so lost, so helpless. Yearning for my guidance.”

Christine sat on Bob’s dark brown couch. She sighed. 

She heard him lock the door and walk toward her. 

She squirmed, turning to look at him. 

He sat beside of her and took her hands in his. 

“...How long have you felt this way?” He asked looking down at her. Rubbing the backs of her palms with his thumbs. 

“...Ever since....You took care of me when I was sick. It just grew from that.” She said so silently. 

“...Christine...You’re so young. Why focus on me? I’m a criminal..A failed criminal..I’m mentally ill. My wife left me because I couldn’t be both a husband and a criminal mastermind..Nevermind that I’m old enough to be your father.” he said so gently. 

“ I know. I know all those things!..But..when we sing. When we’re just..having fun together I feel something so deep for you. I can’t bear the thought of being away from you. You’re the first person who’s ever understood how I think..Please don’t send me away..”She tightly embraced him. 

She had acknowledged the fear of him making her leave because he’d be too uncomfortable with her living there now.

He sighed and pet her hair. She needed to wash it. 

“..You’re needy...dramatic, you always try to spin everything toward you ...you always take the last biscotti and you’re always flat when you try to sing alto..You enjoy setting things on fire far too much and your revenge plans are so impulsive and poorly planned two elementary school aged children can easily figure them out...You are flawed, Christine. Deeply troubled.” He tilted her face up toward him. 

She stared up at him..looking so terrified. 

“That’s why I’m in love with you..” he said. She gasped deeply and she started weeping. 

“I’m madly in love with you..” she sniffled with her reply and hot tears traveled down her cheeks. 

She sniffled and he wiped away her tear. Moving to kiss her. Finally. 

She kissed him back. Feeling a slender hand move to the back of her hair. 

“....Oh..Poor Cecil...” Christine realized as Bob drew her close to him. Lightly petting at her blouse. It was colder out now. September was settling in. 

“Yes...this would upset him. Frightfully so. I once took his girlfriend from him and he kept crying to our father about it. So Dad paid me 50.00 to break up with her.” He said settling his chin on her head. 

“Did you?” She asked resting on his chest. Her eyes closing. She was so content here. 

“...Yes. But I had another within a few weeks...Your Maestro was quite a ladies man in his youth.” He chuckled, into her ear. She visibly bristled. 

“..What are we going to do?..” she asked moving to get more comfortable and lay on him. 

“Well...This is my suggestion. Go on the date with him. Be your beautiful self...and just let it end there. We won’t tell him about us. Or anyone for that matter..for a while.” He said kissing her forehead. 

She nodded. She would do anything he asked her. Never questioning him. He was the only one she wouldn’t question when he made a decision. 

“...What happens now?” She asked, feeling him snake his hand up the back of her shirt. Just feeling her warm skin. 

“...Nothing out of the ordinary. Except we’ll kiss..touch each other. Call each-other Darling..that sort..” he said, very softly. Like a cream-puff. 

“...Will we...?”she looked up at him. Smiling just a little bit. 

“Oh, yes. But not yet. I don’t think you’re ready for that..” he said. 

What upset her was that he was probably right. She wasn’t a virgin by any means but because of how deeply and suddenly in love she was with Bob. It would be too much too soon. 

She nestled her head into him and he was happily confined to pet her hair. 

“Will you sing to me?...” she asked. 

He of course obliged and softly sang “If I Loved You.” from the musical Carosel. 

“If I...loved you. Time and again I would try to say. All I want you to know..” 

She smiled and closed her eyes. He was as big as heaven to her. This moment was the best moment. 

This was the best moment in a long time. 

...

Christine was the second born. The baby. 

Her older sister Gloria was the problem child. Always sneaking out and getting into trouble. 

Christine’s mother praised her at everything she did. She was the smart one. The Golden child who could do no wrong. Gloria and Christine never knew their father. An absent figure for most of their lives. He left just a few weeks after Christine was born. He couldn’t handle the baggage of a family. So he bailed. 

Christine’s mother wanted her children’s love. It was too late for Gloria to worship her as a mother. So maybe Christine could give her that love she wanted so badly. 

No matter how many fires Christine set around the house. It was just her being precocious and experimental. 

Christine’s IQ was tested when she was about 6. She was doing 4th grade level work and was progressing quickly. She had an IQ of 151. Genius level. 

Gloria was now even more over-shadowed by her little sister. 

Not even her acceptance into the Springfield Police Academy could equate her to her parent’s obvious favorite. Not even when she was briefly engaged to Springfield’s most wealthiest bachelor, Montgomery Burns. She gave up and just started a life with Snake. She later on had her son Jeremy. Gloria’s mother would pay some attention to her only grandchild but it was clear nothing Gloria could do would ever measure up to Christine. 

Christine had an over inflated sense of entitlement. She thrived on attention. Due to her mother overbearing on her to always be better. Always be smarter, special. Never be ordinary. This was her one rule. 

Never be regular. 

It was a lot of pressure for her. Which is why she usually went for her older men. That male authority she never had in her life was fulfilled with various mentors she had had in her life. 

Bob was...different. He demanded no change from her. He nurtured her violent streak as well as her intellect. She had never seen a man be so refined yet so unhinged at the same time. She loved to watch him hack mannequins of Bart Simpson to pieces. The swings of his long limbs reminded her of ballet. He was so graceful..so experienced. 

So unordinary. 

She would do everything in her power to be near him. Never acknowledging that he had a complete hold over her. She would slit anyone’s throat for him. All he needed to do was ask. 

To please him was the best feeling. Anything to make him smile or sing to her. 

Bob had..so many feelings for Christine. She was a complicated subject in his brilliant mind. 

She looked good on paper. Educated, cultured. Could tell a Manet from a Monet. Vivaldi from Rossini. A smart dresser and was begging to pick up some cooking skills. 

But what wasn’t on paper was her penchant for petty revenge, violence and utter contempt for the common man. 

That frightened and excited him. Sure, Francesca was willing to kill for a vendetta’s sake but she did it out of love for him and their family. 

Christine was violent because she enjoyed it. 

He knew he would never, ever feel a love so pure and provincial as that he felt for Francesca. 

But the love he felt for Christine was..mutual. She understood his illness. His need to kill a 10 year old boy that had made his life hell. She was independent but she had just the right amount of blind devotion to him that he had never experienced before and he wanted more of it. 

Oh the cruel irony of life. He was her Erik, and she? 

His Christine. 

Where could they go from here? 

Could he actually go through with a proper relationship with her? 

Could he have sex with her? 

He certainly wanted to. He wanted a lot. A nice cultured peaceful life with his young bride. 

That thought made him shut his eyes in contentment every time. 

Being a professor. Coming home to the sounds of Chopin playing through their lovely Manse. The smell of a fine dinner. That conservative domesticity had a more refined flavor in Bob’s mind. 

Maybe reading to her by the fire then retiring to a bed where they cold both openly express their undying devotion and desire for one another. 

Whether it be sex or just a heartfelt conversation. 

Oh what a lovely life that would be...

He thought as he petted through her hair. Gently pressing a kiss to her scalp. 

“..It’s been a morning already..why don’t we go and get something special for to make for dinner tonight? Would you like that?” Christine nodded. Smiling. 

“Would you mind getting my coat when you get yours?” He asked smiling back at her. 

“Not at all!” She said springing up to go get them. He glanced off at a picture of he and his brother in-front of a castle in Spain. He turned the picture face down and stood. Patting the fallen frame. 

“Better luck next time, Old boy..” he said humming gently as he helped Christine into her coat.


	11. The Impossible Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To fight for the right  
> Without question or pause,  
> To be willing to march  
> Into hell for a heavenly cause.

His dreams were now filled with her. 

Her voice. Her face. 

Im Bob’s dreams they were married. She didn’t have a job and was a homemaker. Buttoning up his shirt before he was off to the university to teach. They would listen to music and re-create love duets from all the great musicals. 

Then at the final crescendo they would kiss and he would carry her upstairs. 

What many people didn’t know about Sideshow Bob was that he had a libido that could rival Valentino. 

He had been able to satisfy himself ever since Francesca left. Frankly he had wandered how she didn’t get pregnant a second time due how much sex they had. Something to ponder for another time. 

But since he was nursing this affection for Christine he had tried his very level best to not lust after her but a man can only be a man after all. 

He would catch glimpses of her when she came in from a run. In the summertime she would wear just a sports bra and shorts. His conservative mind nearly blew a gasket when he saw her this way. Surely a woman had a right to her body..but must it always look so wonderful? It was distracting. He dropped a glass of wine in shock when he caught her coming home from an alumni pool party. 

Would it make him as low-brow as a common man? To see her sexually? 

To fantasize what it would feel like to hold her smaller , soft form against him. Kiss her, tell her how beautiful she was. Would that make him an animal? 

Bob wondered if it were crass to want to create an intimate private world with her under his duvet. A world of sighs, beautiful moans and orgasms that they both so rightfully deserved. 

Each time he thought of this he would stretch out one of his legs and painfully palm his groin as if to calm himself down. He couldn’t risk getting hot and bothered even in his own study. He was only guaranteed privacy when it was time for bed. When Christine’s sweet “Goodnight, Maestro.” Was still fresh in his mind. 

Was she a virgin? Certainly not. She went to college. She had been forth coming in her romantic history. She had also ridden horses as well. 

If she wasn’t? There was no harm there. The act itself would be much more enjoyable without the worry of hurting her. He could solely focus on her. His Christine..her body and her pleasure. 

He watched her nibble on one of the pumpkin squares they had made together. She smiled at him and gently held his hand. He softy slid his fingers over hers and she held back tightly. 

“The lamb was wonderful,Maestro. The mint went so well with it. I would have never thought!” She said gently standing to take their plates. He followed her. 

“You’ve just never have had lamb cooked properly. You still have that co-ed pallet. We’ll fix that soon enough..” he chuckled and softly brought her lips to his in passing before putting away the leftovers. 

They usually gave whatever they didn’t eat to their elderly neighbor. A widow whom didn’t really know anything besides being taken care of. Christine usually went over and made polite conversation with her and then would walk back to her’s and Bob’s dwelling. Bob actually cared for this older woman because she reminded him a lot of his mother. Pragmatic, stoic and very demanding.

She turned to start washing the dishes. He wandered if it was okay to touch her now. She certainly probably wouldn’t mind. Should he ask? Would it be too forward? 

“May I?” He asked gently wrapping his thin, gently limbs around her from behind. 

“Of course.” She chuckled and he gently kissed the back of her head. 

“..Christine. Even though we probably shouldn’t be intimate with one another..I certainly don’t see any harm in ...sleeping in the same bed. Even though it goes against my conservative stance..I could make an exception..” he said gently speaking into her ear. 

He was -that-touch starved. 

“You don’t have to convince me, Bob. You know I’m progressive when it comes sexual attitudes.” She smirked and crossed her arms looking up at him. 

He bit his bottom lip but then pursed his lips. 

“...There will be no sexual attitudes in our bed. You can’t handle it.” He said trying to get her goat. 

“Oh I won’t argue with you on that. I think I would go mad...I would tire you out in mere minutes..I’ve been known to go insane with desire..”she smirked and walked by him. Walking towards her cigarettes. 

“Oh I HIGHLY doubt that. My ex-wife would SING my praises. I am a force to be reckoned with Miss Turley!” He was getting upset. Christine was loving this. 

She giggled. “I bet she let you be ontop..Men always want to be ontop.” She took a drag and blew out smoke. 

“A man’s proper place is ontop..” he said walking over to her. Tracing his fingers up her arms. Sending electricity down her spine. 

Damn him. But he wouldn’t best her. 

“Mm..I feel I must argue...Camille Pagila often wrote that a sexually liberated woman Is not the victim of men, but rather their conqueror, an outlaw, who controls the sexual channels between nature and culture.” She ashed her cigarette in the sink. 

“ Bah. Camille Pagila. Angry feminist drivel that keeps those “woke” college students aroused and engaged on the Twitter rather than their assignments.” He said crossing his arms. 

He was so full of himself. But he liked that. 

“...I bet I’d find a copy of Tropic of Cancer under your bed. “ she coyly chuckled casting a glance at him. “Yes, he knows how to build a fire, but I know how to inflame a...well a lady wouldn’t say that next word..”

He never took her to be such a minx! He smiled and took her chin in his hand. 

“You always surprise me....My Soprano.” He chuckled and kissed her. She put her cigarette out in the sink and kissed him back.

He smirked and whispered to her. “To have her here in bed with me, breathing on me, her hair in my mouth—I count that something of a miracle..” her mentor would quote the book. He then kissed that ear and gently tucked those auburn locks behind it and just held her. Enjoying having her so close and safe in his arms. 

Even if the ideas in her head were foolish. Ah, but she was young...she would grow out it. 

Surely.


	12. Beneath a Moonless Sky

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a need too urgent to deny  
> And nothing mattered then  
> Except for you and I  
> Again and then again  
> Beneath a moonless sky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter. 
> 
> TW: Light drugging ( with good intentions )  
> TW: Dubious consent ( with questionable intentions)   
> TW: Slight NSFW

Christine was sleeping so restlessly. She fought sleep. 

Her mentor/...lover? Was he her lover now? They had professed their love to each-other and has kissed and had been affectionate with one another but..that was all. 

Bob would often make Christine go to sleep. He would slip sleep medicine into her tea so she would be weakened and not able physically fight him when he carried her up to her room and put her to bed. 

She couldn’t sleep. Not with all the questions she had. All the desires and feelings she wanted out of her. 

The dull ache between her legs was unbearable. Especially when he lingered just a little when he pulled her covers up. Gently petting her face. Singing her sweet songs and giving her kisses. She screamed inside for him. She wanted him to stay. She longed for the night he would finally give in and slip into her bed with her. Oh, he would tell her how to feel..how to think about it. She could turn off completely and he would take care of her. A break. A respite from having to constantly worry and think. He would whisper to her the secrets of making love. Surely everyone she had been with was but a mere boy compared to him...

Tonight was no different. Her head was getting heavy. She was writing an essay for Yale’s graduate school. She spent most of her time in the living room on her tablet. Typing away on the keyboard attachment. Her head was feeling heavy. She made a slight groan and like a moth to a flame, Bob was there to scoop her up into his arms. 

She whimpered and cried out. Knowing the ache was coming. She could satisfy herself but..oh how much better would it be if her body was complete by him being inside. She cried more when he talked to her. 

“Honestly, Christine..I love how feral you can be..such a passion beneath that icy-exterior.” 

“Bob..Please...I’m in misery...” she whined, tears coming down her face. 

She didn’t use his name often. Only when she was in complete distress. 

“Christine...You’re getting so worked up. You’re making things worse. You’re not ready yet.” He said laying her down. 

“I promise...We will one day..” he said pulling her covers up over her. 

She still wept. 

It had dawned on him. 

“Christine...how long has it been since you had an orgasm?” He asked looking upset. 

“....fidgsss..” she mumbled. 

“Christine!..” Bob said, annoyed now. 

“3 weeks...” she said squirming. 

“....You know that’s far too long for a woman your age. No wonder you’ve been off your game.” He said, his hands were on her pillow. His hair was brushing her forehead. 

“...Sweet lamb...If only you knew the wolf that awaits your slaughter...” he leaned down to whisper into her ear. 

He kissed her lips and she melted into her bedding. 

He was being cruel.

The world around them evaporated. Deep purples and reds now illuminated their environment. She also heard water..rain perhaps? 

The only thing between them was a singular blanket. He was on-top of her. Christine tiredly blinked her eyes. 

“...Where are we?..” she asked so softly. 

“We’re safe, Christine..My Soprano..” he said giving her kisses. Holding her up against him. His skin was so warm. She cried just a little. Was this real? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered right now. 

“...Are you afraid?” He asked smiling down at her..his voice was like warm silk. So comforting. “...No. I’m never afraid when you’re around...” she said smiling, reaching up to pet his long, handsome face. Oh how she loved him. 

He chuckled. “You should be...I’m a terrible man..I want to devour you, Christine. I want it more than anything in this entire earthly realm.” He let out a groan and whimpered. Palming his groin again. 

“...Then devour me. Please I’m begging you. Please give this sinner the drop of water she is dying to taste..” 

“I can’t...I can’t Christine...the time must be perfect for it. These..hormones..this desire is making fools of us both..” he said, putting his forehead to hers. Then only breathing seemed to fill up this odd space she found herself in. 

She took his hand and kissed his slender,delicate fingers. 

He whimpered out. So very touch starved. 

She looked up at him and put his hand abruptly in-between her thighs. 

The gesture shocked him.

“....Oh you poor thing..” he said. Very empathetic at how wet she was. 

“Alright then...But only because we’re in misery...My darling..” he said before kissing her. 

His fingers started moving. Pleasing her. Her tiny hips jolting a little. 

The purples around them started to heat up into reds and oranges. 

“Yes....Yes Maestro...I love you...I love you...I love you so much it burns!” She panted out. 

Her mind was flooded with nothing but the feeling of his hands on her. How such a flawless being like him was actually touching her. 

“Oh darling....You hang the moon and the stars..Oh...my Soprano...my Primadonna!! My perfect Angel! Yes! I’m almost there...and so are you I can feel your precious little heartbeat!” He was panting. By his movement she felt she could tell that he was pumping his hand. Pleasuring the both of them. 

Her world erupted at in a flash of light...then nothing. 

Bob stood from her bedside. His trousers were soaked with both of their bodily fluids. He was as out of breath...spent...he wordlessly covered Christine up. Kissed her forehead and turned out her light. 

He closed the door to her room and closed his eyes tightly. Weeping. He felt vile. 

She was drowsy from sleep medicine. She was hallucinating..And he took advantage of it. He was scum. 

But she was in need. She was crying, begging for him. She wanted him to do more but he held back. He wanted to mount her and claim her brilliant mind and body as his. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to act upon that yet. 

He decided he would talk to her about it tomorrow. If he was lucky she wouldn’t remember anything.


	13. A boy like that.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “But my heart knows they’re wrong! You should know better. You were in love or so you said..you should know better!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I keep forgetting these people are dangerous psychopaths.
> 
> It makes for good reading though, no?

He woke up. Sighing. His sheets were wet. Another nocturnal emission. 

He was drowning in desire for her. He dreamed of her constantly. He’d never tell her. Only a desperate sex-starved fool would do that. 

Even though he saw nothing of her. He felt her. He touched a place that few have caressed. He wanted to always remember how soft she was. How she always kept herself so healthy. 

But he was still scum. Lower than the most pitiful chorus boy. Oh how rotten he was. He wasn’t man enough to say no to her. Wasn’t brave enough to tell her she needed to wait..

But her voice...her beautiful face. He could only BE a man. 

...

He heard her singing downstairs. 

He smiled. Oh how her voice enraptured his heart. 

He put his robe on and went downstairs. He smiled watching her pace in the living room. She was holding a periodical of some kind. A reference for her essay no doubt.

She had West Side Story lightly playing and was singing Maria’s part to “a boy like that”. 

“It isn’t true not for me. It’s true for you not for me. I hear your words and in my head they’re very smart Anita but my heart, Anita but my heart..” 

She gasped seeing him standing in the entryway watching her. 

“Oh! I...hope I didn’t wake you..” she said turning off her phone’s music. 

“Oh no. No. Even if you did. What a beautiful chorus to awaken to...but you were flat on the second measure.” She chuckled walking over to him to hug him by and kiss his cheek.

“You won’t believe the dream I had last night..” she smiled. 

“The..dream?” She thought it was a dream. He sighed. Relieved. A secret. One he would take to his grave. 

“Please tell me, My dear..” he said gently entangling her locks in his fingers. 

“...I dreamed that we had sex. It was...strange but...so wonderful. Maestro..” she gently took his hand and guided him to the couch. 

“....Your body is wrecking havoc on your mind, My Soprano. Yes?..”

“...I am grateful for all that we have. I would never ever change what we have..But I feel...like we’re in a Heinrich Ibsen novel. There’s so much of a barrier..I feel so far away from you...I was..wondering if we...could sleep in the same bed together. It feels...very odd. What we have.” She confessed. 

“..Oh, Christine.” He hugged her. “...Can I trust you to behave?..” he asked. He kept hold of her hands. “Yes. I will. I just want to be close to you..to have your face be the first thing I see when I wake up..and the last thing I see before I sleep..” he smiled and kissed her forehead. 

“ We need to discuss...When we’ll...take things to the next level, though..I have an idea ..where and how but I want to hear what you want..” he kissed her hands and smiled. 

“..Well...I...I..” She looked away and smiled. “...I really..only want to be near you...it could be a bus station bathroom for all I care..” she smiled. 

“...Certainly not! You only deserve the finest linens..the warmest of fires and the most passionate of kisses.” He smiled and pulled her toward him. 

“Oh...Maestro..” she shut her eyes and leaned in. Bob was just starting to ever so slightly lean her back. 

Their bliss was interrupted by the doorbell. The sudden noise made Christine jump and land in the floor. 

Bob stood. “My dear I’m afraid I’m not dressed would you mind getting that?” He smiled helping her to her feet. 

“Not at all... We can continue this discussion later?” She asked smiling up at him. 

“Yes. I always want to talk to you..” he said smooching her lips before going up the stairs. 

She opened the door. It was Cecil. 

“Oh, My Darling. There you are..oh how radiant you look.” He said stepping in without even Christine saying a word. He circled her like a shark. 

“I came to see you. I know it’s a day before our date but I couldn’t help myself.” He said kissing her hand. 

“You’ve enflamed my passions my darling..excuse my affection..”he said pulling her close to him. 

“...Hello Cecil.” She said, looking behind him at Bob while was now dressed in a green polo and khakis. He looked so preppy and handsome...

Ooh.. 

Focus Christine! 

He motioned for her to play along. He backed up into the stairwell. Still watching. He’d come down if Cecil got too brazen. 

“...Is that...Dolce Blue?” She asked. Smiling. Bob wasn’t kidding Cecil smelled like he had he bathed in it. 

Cecil lit up. He knew if he really piled it on it would excite her. The scent of a successful man...it would send those tender ovaries into ecstasy. She’d be on her back for him in no time. 

“Yes! Yes it is! A woman of fine distinction!..” he said continuing to kiss her hand. 

“...Come sit it feels like it’s been forever.” She said looking at Bob. Ever her conductor he nodded and smiled. 

“You’re working so hard at your essay. I do wish you would have choose Princeton.” He said looking at the papers and forms she had strewn about. 

“Yale just had...what I wanted.” She smiled a little to herself. 

“Oh. I think I know who might have influenced that decision.” He said smirking. 

He was counting down the days he could move her out of here and into The Nevada. He would have her transfer after her first semester. Maybe even get her to drop out. She didn’t need to work. He could easily provide for her needs. Ah...his lovely Christine...waiting for him in a lovely pink nightgown when he got home. Draped over the couch with a glass of wine poured for him. He’d truly have it all... 

“So what’s new with you?” She asked politely folding her hands and sitting up straight. 

“..Hm. Not much. I’ve got a few partnerships in the works. Very lucrative.”he said casually putting an arm around her. 

He was acting as if he had automatic right to her. This bothered Christine. 

She seemed to be a thing these brothers were focusing on. Like a toy to play with. Even if Bob played more nicely at times she still felt like a doll. 

Did that changed how she felt about Bob? 

Absolutely not.

Why is it that men were either too forward or too resistant? Maybe it was just these two. 

“...Tell me. What’s your birthstone,Christine?..” he asked so softly. Bringing her close. 

“Emerald..” she said. Nervous. 

“Ah. A noble stone. Regal..only a princess such as yourself deserves nothing less..” he purred. 

“..I suppose. I do like the shade..”

“..So..you were born in May?” He asked looking into her eyes. 

“Yes. May 16th. I was early.” She said feeling a little more relaxed. 

“..Ah. A premie. I bet your mother was delighted that such a beautiful baby girl was so excited to get out and meet her..” 

“Yes. I was very close to her. She meant a lot to me.” Christine said wistfully. 

“Oh. Christine. I’m so sorry. I had no idea..” Cecil said taking her hand and holding it tightly. 

“...It’s alright. It wasn’t an unexpected death.” 

“She was ill then?” 

“Yes. Breast cancer.” 

Cecil pulled her close to him and squeezed her. A sincere embrace. 

“ How did your father take it?..”

“I don’t know...He left my family when I was barely a year old.” 

“...You’ve survived so much....You. You deserve anything you want, Christine. You’ve suffered through enough.” 

He pet through her hair. Slowly imagining the life that he would give her. Anything she wanted. 

“You’re forgetting the first two nobles of The Buddha.” She said softly. 

Cecil sprang back. His brother’s influence. She couldn’t escape it. 

“...Am I?” 

“Yes. Existence is suffering...and the cause of suffering is desire...for me in this case it was my desire to be a brilliant stage actress..” she said closing her eyes. If she listened hard enough she could hear Bob’s shifting in the stairwell. 

“...Sweet Christine..Tell me. How is my brother?..is he treating you well? 

“Oh. It’s great. I’m very thankful for all he’s done. Even if he can be a bit of a grump sometimes.” 

She listened for a scoff from her lover. And he didn’t disappoint her. 

Cecil decided it was time to take her mind off of him. 

“You know I dream of you..often..” he said trailing a hand along her denim covered thigh. 

Christine panicked. Bob couldn’t see this. The stairwell was only within earshot of the living room. She would have to stay calm. Play along like he told her. 

“..Really? Do tell.” She said, not stopping that hand. 

“We’re much like this...but you’re wearing a dress..” he said leaning forward. He was lying through his teeth. He didn’t dream of her. He fantasized. He thought of having sex with her at least 4-5 times a day. In some of those fantasies Bob was able to hear them and he delighted in the pain he was causing him. 

“...And there’s a fire..” He said crawling toward her. 

“...Is there?...Metaphorically or litterally?” She asked quietly retreating from him. 

“Both..” he saw her backing away. 

“Afraid, Christine?” He asked taking her hand. A quiet way to keep her still. 

“..No. I just think that your brother’s couch is hardly the place to be telling me your sexual daydreams.” She smirked. 

“Oh. He’s probably in his study lamenting Francesca. Letting the Burgandy soothe his ego..He won’t hear us, My darling.” He let out desperate moan and leaned in. 

Bob immediately made walking noises and made himself seen. 

“Cecil. I didn’t hear you come in!”Bob said walking over to them both. 

At the sound of that protective baritone she relaxed. He was here. Everything would be okay. 

“Ah. Yes. I just came to see Christine.” Cecil said feeling like someone had just snapped a book shut on the impending desire that was brewing in his incredibly expensive trousers. 

“..Oh? I thought your date wasn’t until tomorrow evening.” Bob said raising a brow. 

“I enjoy her company. Is that a crime?” 

“Certainly not. She’s incredibly charming.” Bob said. Thinking : “That’s why I’m madly in love with her.” 

Christine smiled to herself. Any compliment sent her over the moon and back. 

“Christine, That essay isn’t going to finish itself. The ivies wait for no one. Why don’t you go upstairs and finish it.” He said motioning behind him with a subtle jerk of his head causing his hair to sway. 

“Yes, Maestro.” She said taking the tablet and scampering up the stairs quickly. 

Cecil looked angry. 

“What is this hold you have on her?” Cecil asked walking toward his older brother. 

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean..”

“You could tell that girl to silt her throat open and she would do it. Why is it you have such control?” 

“I’m not sure. Perhaps it’s because I’m her teacher? Her mentor? She wants to be like me. I can’t blame her.” He smirked. 

“I’m going to marry her one day, BOB. And when I do, I’m taking her away from you and giving her life she deserves!” Cecil said bitterly. 

“Oh please. The life she deserves? Cecil she’s set fire to Kent Brockman’s summer home, terrorized St.Clarie’s wife and children just to make him suffer AND tried to blow up Channel 5’s studio. She deserves to be in jail. I deserve the same fate and so do you. So don’t act like you are her savior.”

“I’ll ask YOU to do the same! Keeping her here in this....this doll house while you two play around like you’re in an Andrew Lloyd Webber musical. I can give her an adult life..you want to keep her a child..” 

“She IS a child Cecil! ....She’s only 26 years old. She doesn’t know how to do anything. She’d be completely lost and taken advantage of by someone far more evil than you or I. I do t want to see you around here for a long time after tomorrow. Now. I believe it’s time for you to go.” He said opening the door for him. 

Christine sat at her door. Looking hurt. She heard it all. 

He...he saw her as a child?....But he kissed her..told her he loved her...She was confused. She wiped a tear from her eye. 

“It was...in the heat of the moment....he...was defending me..” she sniffled and stood. Wiping her eyes. 

She heard him knock and come into her room. She turned to look at him. 

“Christine...”

Whenever he said her name all her reason went out the window. 

She walked over to him and hugged him tight. 

“I’m sorry you had to go through that. He will not be easy to spurn away. You know that?” 

She nodded, burying herself into his shoulder. arms wrapped tight around her. He sat with her on her bed. 

“...I think after tomorrow....You and I need to get away. Far away. Just for a little while..” he said smiling. Kissing her forehead and petted through her hair. 

“...Where will we go?”

“...Nowhere. A place where no one knows our names.” 

Silence. 

“Maestro...I’m not a child..” she whispered and wiped her tears. 

“Oh. You heard that...I...suppose my language wasn’t exactly respectful to you..my precious Soprano..” he looked more guilty than the day he was charged for voter fraud. 

She nodded. “It hurt...” she said. It pained her to call him out on his flaws. 

“I’m sorry. I was foolish to call you anything but the exquisite creature you are..I’m not perfect Christine...please understand that..”

She nodded. 

“It’s okay...I did call you a grump.” 

He chortled. 

“You did.” 

He smiled and gently nuzzled his head on-top of hers and kept her close. 

“...I think....When we leave...We’ll...” he flustered a bit. “..-I’ll-...make love to you...I can’t promise fine linen or a fireplace..but I will do everything I can to make this a beautiful experience for you”.

Christine made a noise of delight and disbelief. 

“...Oh Maestro..Do you mean it?” She started to cry from sheer joy. 

“...Yes. My Soprano...I’ll make you sing to God of our love..” he said before kissing her. 

She kissed back and creeped her hands up into his hair. 

“Come. Help me pack. I can never decide on clothes..” he held her hand as he lead her to his room.


End file.
